Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Lola Redux

by John Pursch

The sky hears wild animals cackling, screams of ripped duress in moonless lantern woe, torn distended disregard for sudden snap of boneyard detritus, of wizened forfeiture in prudently rescinded tree line wanderings, felt from carbonized bearings to graven theatrics, spilling over waistline gun rack testaments. Built to iron cauldron dream wave specs, heated beyond toiling defenestration’s syncopated hyphen, its parapets congeal in frozen amulets of dogged aridity, flexing coiled musculature with acerbic beautician girth’s smoldering hieratic wit, fending for shellfish spinster potpourri, regardless of dilated trilogies in taut duplicitous sidearm winds.

Sweating heavenly insights, Lola surfaces from centuries of owl vacation hostage broth, fondly waxes her dosimeter’s crystalline gauge, and shimmies coyly down an eyeless tube stop missile board, surfing decadal imminence for withering motorcycle hands. Engines wind in Doppler fade from noon to midnight curtain contamination, purple perspicacity bubbling by enhancement’s civil laundry puppetry cascade, gone to statutory primes of livid unrest. Steamy sockets wring her swollen lids to blinking codices of terminal keypad blues, flickering typographic turnstiles beneath empaneled neural drone of retraced stumps and penciled hernias, acted out in tessellated sighs.

It has been so long for lovely Lola, too very lung long languorous and listless, seasonal vortices notwithstanding, submerged in solid rock of fluid timescape jangle, swapping hidden variants of faceless corridors and asymptotic footfall sleep with dazzling daisies, counterparts in ashcan bliss conveyance bilge, altered therefores, hithertos, howsomevers, and waddling whoop-de-dumpty wetness have-yous, habilitation knots, short-shrift script erasures, pondered pendulums impending gaseous prayer protection, fusillades of fuselage insertion floss, and ipso factotum vesicles of stolid symptomatic accusation whims, scuttled with prancing ingenuity’s folly…

She tips her glass bottom to sealed stripling augury, flooding her neckline, warmly serene in clairvoyant speckles of frosty futurity, pasting hoarse runes in throaty savage cries of foxtrot embolisms, mirrored between greener cartoons.

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